


pictures of patron saints

by wintersweather



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Angst, Catholic Guilt, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, mentions of - Freeform, vibes are p generally Bad i will say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:41:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25163323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersweather/pseuds/wintersweather
Summary: i said "make me love myself, so that i might love you"don’t make me a liar, 'cause i swear to godwhen i said it, i thought it was true
Relationships: Brian David Gilbert/Patrick Gill
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	pictures of patron saints

**Author's Note:**

> title/excerpt from "saint bernard" by lincoln!

pat can feel it coming.  
brian has no idea.

he felt bad, of course - how couldn't he? but it nagged him every night he spent beside brian, cuddled too close in a small bed, warm and anxious and wanting to push him away but not knowing how. he'd hit the floor, literally and figuratively, wounded. pat doesn't want that. but he doesn't want _this_ either. he shouldn't have entertained it in the first place, and at thirty-two goddamn years old, he expected himself to know better. 

it was bordering on dread when he sees brian at work, setting up cameras for him and peering through the viewfinder as brian worked as hard as he could, performing for not only his unseen audience, but pat himself. he'd lay sweet kisses on pat's cheeks in between scenes, not caring if clayton saw. pat shied away, knowing full well brian thought he was just nervous about public displays of affection. that wasn't completely untrue, but it was never _just_ that. it was everything.

he confided in simone only.

her face contorted a bit when he mentioned it to her, sitting on her couch, legs crossed to make himself as small as he could. she sat her wine down on the coffee table, frowning deeply. "why?" she asked, and pat floundered for words, sort of hoping she'd save him by putting them in his mouth for him. but she didn't, staying silent as she watched him struggle, regaining a bit of her composure and smoothing her hands over her skirt. her eyes were soft, understanding, but her brows were furrowed.

"I guess i just - i don't love him anymore." pat said, and resolutely didn't wince when she scoffed. he wasn't a stranger to that noise.

"bullshit!" she exclaimed. it wasn't particularly kind, but pat didn't anticipate her to be kind anyway. she was brian's friend, too. there was a beat of silence, simone tucking her hair behind her ear, before continuing. "did you ever even love him, pat?" her voice was softer now, more raw, her head tilting slightly to the left as she snatched her wine glass back up, taking a sip as she waited.

pat's stomach dropped. he never stopped to ask himself that. "of course." he answered, sounding hollow, and simone's giving him a look like she doesn't believe him for a fucking second, and pat's a bit nauseated. "i did. i did, really." he insisted, and he wanted to reach out and grab her, make her believe somehow. make himself believe. 

"yeah?"

"simone, i _loved_ him. would i lie to you?"

she shrugged. "i don't know. would you?" her eyes were searching his face, looking straight through his glasses and into his eyes - she wasn't judging, but pat felt uncomfortable under her gaze. he'd never felt so strange around her, so cornered and trapped, knowing she'd found him out without even trying. "it's not my relationship," she said finally, and some tension was relieved in pat's body. "so i don't care. but we both know you never loved him. he was just some outlet for you to get over your fucking internalized homophobia and catholic guilt, right?" 

pat damn near chokes. he's stuttering, grasping at straws, and he could feel his face heating up. he was angry, pissed that she'd even fucking insinuate that - "you think i'm using him?" he managed, voice cracking like he was still in middle school. 

"seems convenient is all i'm saying." she answered, standing up and taking her empty glass to the kitchen while pat tried not to seethe on her couch. "patrick, i love you, but i know that all he is to you is this - this idealized concept of a gay relationship. that's all he's ever been." her tone was calm, needling, getting under pat's skin. she wasn't even trying to; she just _did_. "and you know that. this is about some teenage fantasy of you getting back at your dad for being a piece of shit by dating a boy."

she wasn't even fighting with him at that point, just dumping observations on him. "what do you know? you didn't grow up like i did, you don't know what it was like for me." he snapped, blunt nails digging into the couch arm. the room felt like it was spinning, and she kept going, barely audible. his head was ringing, knowing she was painfully right, every bit of it.

she's in front of him now, tall and dark and grim, looking spent. "you should probably leave." she's quiet but earnest, like all she's ever had was pat's best interest in mind.

she does. pat knew that as he left, barely catching her "i'll call you tonight' before the door shut behind him. he couldn't even be mad at her as he stumbled down her apartment stairs, tears blurring his sight. he didn't deserve brian, not in any capacity. a boyfriend, and friend, an acquaintance, none of it. brian was just that - a fantasy, a rebellious act, something to spite god or his dad or who fucking ever he wanted to prove himself to. a pathetic thirty-something on the outside, a pathetic sixteen year old on the inside.

he stopped in a park, dropping himself on a bench and letting himself cry. it'd been a long time since he had a breakdown in a public space, joining the masses of new york city and all their unique struggles and traumas. he kept himself quiet, at least - none of that wailing on the bus type shit like he'd heard before. he didn't want the attention or the pity, from himself or anyone else, but it couldn't be helped. he took his glasses off and left him in his lap, fragile little wires and glass glinting off the streetlight in his blurred vision. he could almost see himself if he squinted just right.

the phone vibrating in his pocket was the least of his worries at the moment, with nothing but vague memories swirling about his head. he should tell brian. brian knew a little bit about his tragic backstory, the bare minimum from when they'd share stories about their childhoods. brian's was mostly happy, like any kid in a rich suburb in maryland's should be. he didn't remember his dad very well, and as fucked up as it was, pat envied that statement. he'd never tell brian that, especially when brian was in his lap, small and somber as he talked about his parents, and pat felt the same guilt and dread twisting his stomach that he did every time family came up, past or present.

his fingers are cold, numb as he taps brian's number, his hand shaking as he holds the phone to his ear. it rings a few times before he hears brian's voice in the form of his voicemail, formal and so unlike brian. pat can barely breathe, and his inhale sounds like a sob as his phone beeps, signalling his turn to talk. "i'm so sorry, we should talk." is all he wants to say, hoping his voice didn't sound fully wrecked. he hung up, and tried to take some deep breaths, wiping his eyes with his sleeves before he puts his glasses back on. if they're going to do it, he wasn't to do it calmly, admit every thing simone called him out on, let him know just why this can't continue.

his head is pounding as he starts trudging back to his own piece of shit apartment, his cheeks tear-stained and his nose stuffy. his sinuses were killing him. since when was he too old to cry? the thought made him gulp down another sob, and his phone was ringing, and it wasn't hard to not pick it up. anxiety gripped every bit of him, but he wouldn't take that call outside. just a bit longer until he was alone, able to sort himself out before answering so maybe he could hope to salvage something with brian. he barely got the key in the lock, going straight to his room with charlie hot on his heels, curious.

patrick gill sat down on his bed and slid his phone out of his jeans pocket, seeing the last thing he wanted to see. he knew it was coming.

_one new voicemail from: brian_

**Author's Note:**

> hi. it's been awhile. where's my fellow ex-catholics at tho!
> 
> tumblr: easterntimecryptid


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